


The Ending

by generalgoods



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon deaths, Gen, bofa from dwalin pov, crryyyyy, essentially canon, just a bit more details, no added deaths yada yada, ok ok ok ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalgoods/pseuds/generalgoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Battle of Five Armies from Dwalin's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ending

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so lame

It was just dawn when the first horn was heard. It set Ori to shivers and made Dwalin, son of Fundin lift his head a little higher. The blast was followed by two more, each from a different army. The company of dwarves numbered only thirteen, but there were thousands beyond their crude wall of stone. They clad themselves in gleaming armor, brilliant colors of gold and red and blue that covered them from head to toe. Their weapons had been sharpened or replaced. Ori wrote furiously in a small book he had produced from no where, Nori was chewing his lip, Dori tightening his gorget. Bombur slapped his stomach and puffed his cheeks, Bofur tossed a hammer from hand to hand, Bifur scratched his salt and pepper beard. Gloin was breathing in the smell of Erebor, Oin situating a pouch filled with medicine under his breastplate. Fíli was laughing at some jest Kíli had told him as they fixed each other's armor. Balin, Dwalin's brother, the wisest of their company, was watching Thorin with mute appeal. Dwalin glanced to his oldest friend that stood beside him, Thorin Oakenshield. The visor of his helm was lifted to show his bright blue eyes, burning with a mad fury.

"Let it fall," The battle raged beyond their gate by the time Thorin gave the word. By then they were beyond ready, and Kili was shifting from one foot to the other so often that Dwalin was concerned he would tire himself too soon. "Thank you all for following me here. For helping me in a quest long forgotten." He cleared his throat and nodded to Dwalin.

Thorin shouted to the dwarves, the elves, and the men to rally as they emerged from the mountain. The company of Thorin Oakenshield raised a voice so strong that it overtook all other noises of battle. Their armor shone in the rising sun as orcs were trampled beneath their heavy boots. Thorin slashed at goblins as they came to him, his heavy sword cutting through orcflesh like a hot knife in butter. He roared at them as they came and allowed not a single one near his armor.

Black blood was smeared on Dwalin's head, dripping into his beard. A spear took him in the back but it felt as if a child had glanced him. He spun on them, taking their arm off at the shoulder and kicking them into the mud. It's high noon when he finally spots Thorin, wrestling with a midnight black warg. Dwalin begins to clear a path to him, but Thorin has already jammed a sword between the beast's shoulder blades.

A shriek is heard, a caw, and then a shrill voice, loud with excitement. Dwalin recognizes it to belong to their burglar. "The eagles are coming!" The hobbit is jumping above the fray, as high as he can go with a look of exasperation on his face. 'He's not watching,' Dwalin realizes too late. The orcs are tossing rocks and boulders into the elves and one catches their burglar in the head. He disappears from sight before Dwalin can shout a warning and there is nothing more he can do but hope.

The eagles have thrown wargs and their riders from the battle, their talons tearing through the mismatched orcish armor with ease. They have been a great aid, one Dwalin will never forget. More aid has come since their arrival, Beorn the Bear with a small number of his folk in their bearskins. He towers above the tallest warg (whom he quickly dispatches). The bear broke through goblin ranks and tore them to pieces, when he suddenly stopped in the thick of battle. Dwalin was too busy to see him, but he soon realized Thorin had vanished from sight. Dread filled him quickly, and he raced through the orcs, desperate to find his king, his friend.

\--------------------

He comes upon Fíli cradled in Kíli's arms, both of them sitting in mud thick with dead and discarded weapons. He realizes they are dying, the both of them. Fíli's leg is twisted in its socket along with an arrow through his collarbone. Blood is pooling in the hollow of his neck as his blue eyes stare up at his younger brother who is steadily sobbing. His hand is on his chest in an effort to cover the gash reaching from his shoulder to his groin. Kíli's shield is splintered to pieces on the arm that he rests on his brother's heaving chests. Their fingers are intertwined. Dwalin thinks Kíli might be saved, he might live, but he is wrong. Kili leans to kiss his brother's sweat covered forehead, showing several arrows in his back that have pinched through his armor. They are both dead where they sit. Even if Kíli had a chance, he would not leave his dying brother. He would fight them hotly, curse them, try to fight them off, all while gripping Fíli tightly. Dwalin dropped to his knees in front of them, but they seemed not to even notice. Fíli smiled through his golden beard stained with blood and lifted a hand to Kíli's face, only to fall short and grab his hair.

"I'm so sorry," His voice is weak and it only makes Kíli sob as loudly as a child and wrap himself around his brother. He promises Fíli that he will get them out and that it doesn't matter. He forgives his brother nonetheless. Fíli sighs in relief, his last, and lets his hand fall. Kíli looks up to Dwalin without a word, his face hard as tears fall into his brother's hair.

"We tried. We tried to save our uncle with all we had and..we didn't do anything but get ourselves killed. Please apologize for me. For..the both of us." His voice trails off when he shifts to show a sword in his side. He shakes his head and looks up to the sky, a sky he will never see again.

They consider the war a win and it is anything but. After Fíli and Kíli died on the field, Beorn returned with such ferocity that he tore through the goblins and straight to their leader, a tall orc they called Bolg. The bear tore their leader from his warg and killed him himself. Several dwarves have claimed Beorn tore the orc limb from limb while others say his head was torn from his shoulders. The orcs and wargs dissolved into Mirkwood with agonized screams and vows of revenge. The vows were quickly extinguished when they were hunted and killed by the remaining armies. Thorin had been injured gravely when an orc got a hold of him and tore his armor from his chest, nearly ripping out the king's arm with it. He had stabbed Thorin where he figured his heart had been and missed miserably. The injury was great nonetheless and Thorin would die before the day was done.

Dwalin took the duty of telling his greatest friend about the death of his beloved nephews. He feared it would kill Thorin on his bed but it did not, fortunately. He sighed long and loud and shut his eyes so tightly Dwalin thought he would never open them again. He let out a sob when Dwalin told them of Kíli's last request, a sound he had never heard from Thorin.

"I need you to do one last thing for me, aye. Just..this one thing. You must tell Dís of our deaths." Thorin is staring at Dwalin intently, sweat beading down his face. "Just this one last thing."

Dwalin nodded and promised Thorin, knowing this was the last he would ever see of him. He did not know how to leave him, so he grabbed Thorin's hand and gave a squeeze.

"Thank you for being my closest friend." Dwalin choked on his words until they became a sob, garnering a rough laugh from Thorin.

"And thank you for not dying like I."

Bilbo was found unharmed (disregarding his double vision and ringing ears) by Gandalf. He was taken immediately to Thorin, and whatever he was told, left Bilbo weeping in the thickest blanket they had for hours. That was the last day of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain.

Their funerals were solemn and quick. They were laid in Erebor, next to each other in a row. Someone offered to put Thorin in the middle of the three but the idea of separating Fíli and Kíli in death visibly disgusted Dwalin. He shook his head, gave the man a curt "no" and left.

The Elven King of Mirkwood, Thranduil, fought as general for the Wood Elves. He had previously imprisoned Thorin and his company for trespassing in his land, but as a final act of respect, left the elven sword Orcrist that he had confiscated with the late dwarf king. The Heart of the Mountain, a jewel like no other, was left with Thorin as well.

\--------------------

Dwalin left quickly. He took the fastest pony he could find amongst them, food, a bedroll (one that he knew he would not use) and enough water to keep him alive. He had to get to Dís first. He had to tell her himself. Her brother and both her sons lost, Dwalin could not protect them. He could not bring them back'p, and she had to learn it from him and him alone.

His pony was slathering and stumbling by the time he got to their settlement in Ered Luin. Dwalin had barely slept at all, and when he did, it was in the saddle. He drank a skin of water to compose himself before going to see her. He must have seemed half mad, due to the looks he was given. Did they recognize him at all? Did they know his name? Did it matter at all?

When he found her home of stone and timber, he slammed a fist into the door and yelled hoarsely for her. He pounded on the door with such ferocity that his hand throbbed.   
"What in the name of Mahal is so important that you are nearly busting down my door?" She wrenched the door open, her eyes glowering at the man at her door. She softened when she realized who it was.

He collapsed there in front of her, into the dirt on his knees. He was so weak. So tired. He missed the closest friend he had ever known and the boys he had seen grow. He watched them die, watched Thorin struggle against his wounds. He sobbed and tried to speak to her, his voice as thick as blood and the bile in the back of his throat. He reached for her, blindly, and found her hands. He grasped them tightly, bowed his head, and whispered apologies to her, over and over and over. The words seemed foreign after saying them so much, but he continued without stopped. Dwalin allowed himself to glance at her face, and saw confusion, worry, fear. Her eyes glazed and tears fell into her. He didn't say the words, but she knew.


End file.
